“Miss Celia, I have the strangest thing to tell you,” she began, and then unfolded her story.

Celia listened in astonishment.  “Why, Belle, it isn’t possible—­you don’t think—­”

“Miss Celia, I don’t know.  I saw the ring, and I know Morgan isn’t a thief, but I don’t understand it.”

“No, indeed.  Morgan, whom we have always known—­who is honest as the day!” Celia was silent for a moment, then she said, “Belle, it seems to me the only thing for you to do is to tell Mr. Whittredge.  The ring belongs to him; he will know what to do far better than we, and he will think of Morgan, too.”

“I would have told him, but he has gone away.”

“Gone?”

Belle wondered a little at Miss Celia’s tone; it was as if she cared a great deal.

“I don’t think he will be gone long.  He took Rosalind with him,” she added.

“Then I should wait till his return.  A few days more can’t make much difference.  You have been very wise not to mention it to any one.”

But when Belle told about the supposed detective, Celia laughed and said she had a vivid imagination, and that it was only a coincidence that the old rumors should be revived just now.

As Belle went down the hill, feeling somewhat crestfallen and rather tired of the whole matter of the ring, she met Maurice and Jack.  Jack had spent the night with Maurice, and now they were on their way to the landing to take some pictures with Maurice’s new camera.  They made no objection to her proposal to join them, so she turned back, feeling strongly tempted to tell her story to them; but she had agreed with Miss Celia that it was best not to talk about it until Mr. Whittredge’s return, and Belle prided herself on her ability to keep a secret.

The interest of deciding what view would make the best picture made her forget the ring for a while; but as they sat on the edge of the dock waiting to catch a sailboat about to start out, she suddenly said, “Boys, I believe I saw a detective this morning,” and she described the stranger.

“Why do you think he is a detective?” asked Maurice.

“Well, you know they always wear spectacles and try to look like ministers,” she answered confidently.

“Pshaw! they have all sorts of disguises,” said Jack.

“I don’t care, I’m sure he is one, and I think he is looking for the ring.”  Belle pursed up her lips as much as to say she might tell more.

“You are trying to make us believe you know something,” remarked Jack, with brotherly scorn.

“I do.  Something I can’t tell for—­well, for several days.”

“Who knows it beside you?” asked Maurice.

“Just Miss Celia.”

If Miss Celia knew, it seemed worthy of more respect.  “How did you find it out?” asked Jack.

“I can’t tell you.  It is a mystery; but, boys, I want to keep an eye on that man and see what he does,” Belle said impressively.